


The Malfoy Files

by HeadlessHuntsman



Category: Harry Potter - Fandom
Genre: F/M, Gen, Language
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-10-04
Updated: 2012-10-04
Packaged: 2017-11-15 15:16:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 11
Words: 14,707
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/528661
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HeadlessHuntsman/pseuds/HeadlessHuntsman
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Draco Malfoy is a private solicitor. He is asked to look into the theft of several items, and soon finds himself embroiled in a mystery encompassing centuries and bloodlines. Time starts to run out when people close to home are threatened.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

A/N: Hey all I have added this Author's note on the suggestion of a review. First let me set the time frame... This takes place about 23-24 years after the war ( I am horrid with numbers) Draco is in his early 40's. This helps explain his turn around on Muggles and his attitude change in general.

Disclaimer: I do not own any of what you recognize just the plot. The only thing I gain from this are the warm fuzzy feelings that reviews bring.

The Malfoy Files Chapter 1

A killing spell blasts the rock beside me, and I am covered in gravel. I grab the lanky redhead, pulling him to the ground beside the boulder I am behind.

“You seen Potter?” I yell over the sounds of the fighting taking place in the valley.

The redhead's blue eyes catch mine, and he shakes his head no before peeking back above the rocks.

“Sectumsempra! Confringo! Bombarda!” I hear Potter's voice screaming out the spells in rapid succession, showing he is very much still in this battle.

Blood flows from my forehead into my eyes, stinging them. I must have caught some rocks.

“Hold still, ferret,” the redhead says, pointing his wand at me. “Episkey,” he says, and I feel the cut seal up.

“Whatever, weasel,” I smirk back. “You seen the kids?” I ask, looking around the impromptu battlefield.

“Last I saw them, the bitch was herding them into the caves back there,” he answers me.

Another redhead, this one older looking, dives behind the boulder, next to us. “You two done taking a kip? We need to keep moving,” the newcomer snaps. A shadow passes over the moon; as the newcomer looks up, his scarred face catches the moonlight. “About bloody time he got here,” the larger man curses.

A primal roar bellows, from the sky and a belch of flame hits a group of opposing wizards. The lucky ones are turned to ash instantly.

“That would be Charlie's signal,” Weasley says. “Let's move.”

He jumps up and we follow as we make our way to the mouths of the caves. As we take refuge behind several larger boulders, another redhead (do they ever end?) drops in beside us from the night sky. “Hans, reel them in and start calming them!” the redhead in dragon leathers yells to the formless shapes in the night sky, letting go of the rope he has just slid down.

I spot Potter held up behind a large rock outcropping. I point him out to the others I am with, and start to make my way towards him. A flash of red catches my eye as something jets by me on a broom. The flier is Ginny Potter. She stops about five feet from the outcropping, dismounting her broom and hitting the ground at full speed, all in one fluid move. She pulls up beside Potter and stands back to back with him in a defensive posture. Her face is fierce and her eyes flashing with intensity. I would hate to be on that woman's bad side.

The three other men and I make our way to the outcropping with little resistance. The one with the scars stares intently at the mouth of the largest cave muttering a series of spells under his breath. We are joined by two other Weasleys. These two I recognize from my time at Hogwarts.

“Most of her troops have either run or given up outright,” the one who was Head Boy comments.

“Yeah you would be surprised how much dragon fire can cause you to reevaluate your life decisions,” the other newcomer, the one used to play Quidditch with Potter, jokes.

“Humph, never did for me,” the one in dragon leathers remarked dryly.

“There are some pretty nasty curses at the mouth of the cave,” the scarred one says. “But I don't sense anything further in. I can break them, may take some time though.”

“Get to it, Bill,” Potter says, taking over. “The rest of us need to set up a perimeter. Ron,” he says pointing at Weasley. “You find the best defensive spots and assign the people.”

“Yes, sir,” Weasley answers reflexively. “Charlie, will you be needed with the dragons?” he asks.

The one on dragon leathers shakes his head. “Hans has a handle on them,” he answers his brother.

“Good,” Weasley says. “I need you behind that boulder there,” he says, pointing to a large rock twenty or so meters away. “Ginny, I need you back in the air doing sweeps,” he says to his sister, who immediately summons her broom, mounts it and takes off.

“Malfoy.” I start at my name. “I need you and Harry to guard Bill while he works.” Potter nods and starts scanning the surrounding area. I do the same while committing the names of the others to memory.

“Percy, make your way back to base camp and let mum and dad know what's up.”

“Right, on it,” Percy says, as he turns and moves back, towards the south end of the valley.

“George, stay with me and we're gonna do sweeps out every ten minutes,” Weasley says.

“Got it,” George answers.

I move away from the group and watch Bill work his curse-breaking skills.

“Ron!” I would recognize that woman's screech anywhere.

“Hermione, what are you doing here?” Weasley asks. “We agreed you would be best at base camp.”

“Did you really think I would just sit by while that cow has the kids?” she asks, looking at him sternly.

“I guess not,” Weasley says pulling his wife into a hug.

I lean back against a rock and momentarily close my eyes, willing myself to relax. I think back on all that has happened in the last three months and shake my head in wonder. If you would have told me then that in three months’ time I would be the sole Malfoy heir, fighting alongside Harry Potter and the whole Weasley clan, I would have checked you into St. Mungo's. But family has a strong bond, even for a Malfoy. Here is what happened.


	2. Chapter 2

Malfoy Files Chapter Two

It was a Monday and I was working in my office, in Knockturn Alley.

After the war, nobody wanted to hire a Malfoy, and my father had spent almost every Galleon he had keeping himself and, mostly by coincidence, my mother and myself out of Azkaban. As it was, my father and mother both had their wands broken. I escaped that fate, as I was underage when most of my "transgressions" occurred.

My father still had several land holdings that he managed to parlay into a very equitable marriage proposal for myself and Astoria Greengrass. I played the dutiful son married Astoria, and in due time produced a proper Malfoy heir, my son Scorpius.

Now I am not going to claim to be the best father. I mean having a stark raving sociopath for both a mother and a father didn't exactly give me the best role models growing up, but I try. The first thing I did was get rid of the whole Pure Blood supremacy bullshit. People are people albeit most of them are morons and deserve everything they get.

I am not sure of Astorias views on the matter. What I do know is, she never wanted to marry me. She did, like me, what was expected of her. She is civil enough and I think she genuinely loves Socrpius. Me however, I think she could do without. As a result, let's just say fidelity has never been a big part of our marriage.

I spend most of my time in my office. I am a private solicitor. I use my contacts with the seedier side of the world to find things my clients are missing. I also do some work with the Ministry finding escaped criminals. Most of the time my clients don't want the proper authorities knowing what they are missing or that they even had the item in the first place.

I work in both the Muggle and wizard world. My office is in Knockturn Alley. But it also has a storefront, that opens on to the same Muggle street as The Leaky Caldron does.

"Mister M, you have a client here, and your wife is on line two."

Line two was our code for a floo call and when Gertrude used the word client she meant a Muggle.

"Tell my wife I will get back to her and send in the client," I said into the spelled box designed to look like a Muggle intercom system.

A tall brunette, with movie star legs, glided effortlessly into my office. She was followed by a mountain of a man, I could only assume was her bodyguard. I stood up, feeling suddenly under dressed in my casual Muggle suit with no tie.

"Good morning, Mr. Malfoy," she said extending her hand.

"Good morning," I replied, noticing a years pay worth of jewelry on her hand and wrist.

"What can I do for you?" I asked sitting at my desk, while pointing to my client chairs. Man mountain moved to a corner and leaned on the wall, looking neither interested nor bored.

"Straight to the point. I like that," the brunette said, producing a cigarette. "Do you mind?" She asked.

"They're your lungs," I said.

She smirked and lit the cigarette. She was good. She had nothing on the Malfoy smirk, but very few people do.

"I heard from my associates, that you are one of the best when it comes to discrete investigations," she said taking a drag from her smoke.

"You heard wrong," I stated, matter of factly. She cocked her eyebrow inquisitively. "I am THE best. What do you need?" Humility has never been my strong suit.

"Let me introduce myself first. I am Treigthe Saterbourne," she said, "perhaps, you have heard of my family?"

I nodded my head. Anyone who had semi-respectable dealings, anywhere in London, had heard of the Saterbournes. They were old money procured through illegal means, mostly gambling and prostitution. Then, about twenty years ago, they began to clean their money through politics and charitable organizations.

"My family estate was recently robbed and several valuable artifacts were stolen," she said exhaling smoke.

"Why me," I asked. "Why not Old Bill? You're on much better terms now, from what I read."

"You cannot believe everything you read," she said. "There are still several factions within The Met, that still feel my family is not to be trusted."

"Shocking," I deadpanned.

Her eyes flared with momentary anger. "You, Draco Malfoy, should know the difficulties of living down the actions of a father.

I was shocked, but managed to keep it from showing.

"Yes I know of your past," she said nonchalantly, "and I also know of your other, less mundane, life. About a hundred years ago my family and some less desirable elements, from your world made a deal and found common ground in the great unifier, crime."

"Ok, so what was stolen?" I asked, interested.

"Does that mean you'll take the case?" She asked.

"Depends on what was stolen," I shook my head. "I don't do anything blind."

"It's a twelfth century text reputed to be the ramblings of an insane monk," she said. "A ceremonial dagger, dating from the same era, was taken as well."

"What the hell is the East London mob doing with monastic writings and ceremonial weaponry?" I asked.

"Let's just say my father's tastes, in collections, ran to the eclectic shall we," she said, with a small grin. I couldn't tell if she was actually pleased or plotting the easiest way to rip out my heart.

"So I assume that you're approaching me due to the fact that you don't want any authorities knowing what's going on," I stated, with a matter of fact tone.

"Your grasp of the obvious is encouraging," she said sarcastically. "What I think you should do is question my staff first," she continued, as if reading from a list. "Then you should check and see if anyone has tried to fence the items."She looked at me questioningly. "Aren't you going to write this down?" She asked.

"I wasn't planning on it," I answered, looking at my fingernails.

"Why not?" She asked.

"Look, Ms. Saterbourne, you're here to hire me. This means that you have asked around and liked what you've heard," I said. "So I am going to do this my way."

"What's your first move?" she asked.

I shook my head. "It doesn't work that way. I will give you periodic updates, but I will not give you an itinerary, understood?" She nodded in the affirmative. "Good, the fee is three hundred pounds a day plus expenses, with a one thousand pound retainer."

"Here is everything you need," She said, handing me a folder and a computer flash drive. "The flash drive has all the same information that's in the folder. I didn't know if you had access to a computer."

I nodded my understanding and stood up. Man mountain moved to open the door for Ms. Saterbourne, as she left my office.

Ms. Saterbourne paid my secretary the retainer and left my office. I first thing I needed to do was talk to my contacts and see if anyone was selling the items, then I should check and see who had the skills to steal the items. Should be pretty straight forward I thought. I was wrong.


	3. Chapter 3

Malfoy File Chapter 3

 

I started this investigation in the same place I started most of my other investigations, a bar. This wasn't just any bar; this was my favorite bar. The placed was called “Firepit” and was owned by a former schoolmate of mine named Blaise Zabini. When he bought it, the bar was in a very shady section of wizarding London. It was the type of place where you could meet with your “business associates.” No one eavesdropped or asked unnecessary questions.

Then about five years ago some developer got it into his head to buy up all the land around The Firepit and Blaise found himself in the middle of an magical urban renewal project, so he did what all good Slytherins do: he adapted. He expanded into the shop next to him, added a dance floor and a stage, offered a full menu, and found himself the owner and manager of the hottest magical club going. He did keep a back room for his loyal clients who just wanted to drink and be left alone. I think he did it so he could have a place to escape more than anything else.

“Hey ‘D’,” the large doorman said.

“Hello Willy. Is he back there?” I asked, opening the door for myself.

He shook his head. “Nah, he's over on the dance floor auditioning bands for the weekend.”

I stepped into the bar and was assaulted by a sound I can only describe as a kneazle attempting to mate with a Muggle blender whilst being attacked by a Dementor.

“Holy mother of Merlin! What the bloody hell was that?” I heard Blaise scream over the “music”.  
“How in the sodding hell is anyone supposed to dance to that?” I heard him continue his tirade as I headed to the tap-room in the back of the bar.

“Afternoon Mr. Malfoy. The usual?”

I nodded yes to Ellie the bartender. It was early still, and I was the only one there. I moved to a back booth where I could spread out and keep an eye on the room. I opened the file given to me and began reading.

“Here ya go,” Ellie said, setting down a double firewhiskey and a butterbeer.

“Thanks, Ellie,” I said, not looking up from the file.

The manuscript and dagger were first noticed missing two weeks prior. It that time the Saterbourne family had searched its own resources and contacts. They had ruled out any of their immediate staff. I would still check myself.

The folder had several Muggle photos of the items that were missing. The book was leather bound with a large cross on the front, tooled in silver and gold. It screamed “ancient.” If I hadn't known better, I would have sworn it was magical. The dagger didn't look like a typical ceremonial weapon. It looked more like a weapon that was used in ceremonies.

“Can you believe them?” Blaise asked, storming into the tap-room. Ellie handed him a glass and he slid into the seat across from me, still fuming.

“It's your own fault, you know,” I smirked, putting the photos away. “Becoming a respectable businessman and all.”

“Don't remind me, Draco,” he said, taking a drink. “Don't remind me. So what brings you into my fine establishment this afternoon?”

“What? Can't a guy just come in for a drink with his friend?” I asked, sounding offended.

“We aren't friends by choice,” he said. “Nobody else would put up with our smug asses,” he said, smiling. “To smug asses,” he said, raising his glass.

Just as he said that I heard a shriek come from the front of the bar. “Where is that bastard?” came a female's voice I would recognize anywhere.

“And the women who love them,” I finished Blaise's toast, smirking. Blaise looked like he was going to be ill.

“I figured you would be back here,” Pansy Parkinson screamed, entering the back room.

Blaise looked like he seriously regretted the anti-apparition spell he had put on the bar to keep people from skipping out on their tabs. “What do you need, Pansy?” Blaise asked through his teeth.

“Oh, hello, Draco,” Pansy almost purred at me, totally changing her demeanor.

I gave her the patented aloof head nod and eyebrow raise, being careful not to show any interest at all.

“Pansy! What do you need?” Blaise asked again.

“I need you to go to Hogwarts, it's about Damien,” Pansy said, looking back to Blaise.

“What's the little shite done this time?” Blaise asked, pinching his nose between his eyes.

“I don't know! Headmaster Longbottom sent me an owl saying a parent needed to be present this afternoon at four o'clock. It's something to do with discipline,” Pansy said, putting her hands on her hips, steeling herself foe him to say no. “I have a date this evening and being that he's your spawn, you need to go.”

“Sure, I'll go,” Blaise said plainly.

“You will? No fights? No threats?” Pansy said, looking as if someone had invalidated her entire existence.

“Why not? It's Monday, we're slow, and you'll owe me,” he said coldly. “Now, order something or leave.” He turned his back to her.

Pansy left, still shocked and dazed.

“Hey, mind if I tag along?” I asked. “I need to talk to professor Martine about this case I am working.”

Professor Martine was the Muggle Studies instructor at Hogwarts. He was also a “reformed” art thief. I am one of a very few people who know the latter. I knew Emile Martine and he owed me because I helped clear him of a murder a few years prior. I managed to do it quickly and quietly without his past being investigated or discovered. I thought it wouldn't hurt to get his thoughts on the theft.

“Fine with me,” Blaise said. “You gonna see your kid while you’re there?” he asked.

Shaking my head I responded, “Don't see the point. He's trying to distance himself from all the crap the name ‘Malfoy’ brings. Can't say I blame him either,” I said.

Blaise conjured a quill and parchment. “Better let Longbottom know I am the one coming,” he said. “I still can't believe they made him headmaster,” he said, scribbling out his note. “Never would have thought it in school,” he said as he whistled for a coal black owl with yellow eyes. “The war sure changed him,” he remarked, tying the note to the owl's leg.

“Yeah,” I responded, draining the last of my firewhiskey. “Wars will do that.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a while so it's time to remind you, I am not JKR and own none of what you recognize. A few things you should know. Scorpius and Damien are both fifth years.

Chapter Four

We arrived in Longbottom's office via Floo shortly before four o'clock. Brushing the soot off my clothes, I looked around the office. Blaise stumbled in behind me. I heard voices coming from a room off to one side.

“I think they're in there,” I said, pointing the room out to Blaise. The door opened and Longbottom entered the room.

“Mr. Zabini, thank you for your owl. We will be starting in a moment.” He looked at me. “Thank you for coming, Mr. Malfoy. I was not aware you would be coming,” he said, retrieving a small stack of papers from his desk. “Your wife said she had been unable to reach you.”

“You have me at a loss,” I said, confused. “I just came along to speak with Professor Martine.”

“When I sent the owl, I asked for both you and your wife to be present,” Longbottom said, motioning for us to join the others in the room.

“Ah, I got busy with a client and was unable to get back with her when she called,” I explained to Longbottom.

“Well, I am glad you could make it,” he said, following Blaise and myself into the room.

I walked into the side room which was set up like a sitting room. On one side sat Damien Zabini. He was tall, thin, and dark-skinned like his father. His facial features were more pug-like, resembling his mother. Blaise went to join him. On the other side of the room sat Scorpius and Astoria. I took a seat a few chairs away from them, but on the same side of the room.

“I called you here to settle an ongoing issue,” Longbottom started. “Damien and Scorpius have been at each other’s throats all term. This is unusual, as they are both Slytherin and until this term, while they had not been friends, by all accounts they had been civil,” Longbottom said, looking through the papers he had retrieved from his desk. “The latest incident has caused considerable damage to the Slytherin common room, as well as leading to the hospitalization of several of their housemates. Neither Mr. Malfoy nor Mr. Zabini will comment as to the cause of this rift,” Longbottom continued. “I have been in touch with the governors of the school and it has been decided, with your permission, to administer Veritaserum to both young masters Malfoy and Zabini in order to get to the bottom of all this.”

Damien looked like he wanted to bolt, while Scorpius looked like he had grown even more pale than he already was.

Blaise spoke first. “It doesn't really matter to me much. Though I suppose no permanent damage would probably be best,” he said disdainfully. Damien scowled, but knew better than to object.

I looked to Astoria to see if I could discern her thoughts on the matter. I have always tried to defer to her when it comes to the day to day raising of Scorpius. I have to say she has done a good job.

“Veritaserum should have no lasting ill effects,” I said. “The questions will be only concerning his feud with Damien?” I asked.

“You have my word,” Longbottom replied.

“Alright then, let's get this started,” I said.

The door opened and a tall woman with mousy blonde hair, blue eyes and very fine multicolored robes entered. “You sent for me, Headmaster?” the woman asked.

“Ah, Professor Clearwater, did you prepare the potions I requested earlier?” Longbottom asked.

“Yes, here they are,” she answered, handing over two small vials of clear liquid before sweeping from the room.

Longbottom handed one vial to Scorpius and the other to Damien. “Now, both of you drink and we will get started,” Longbottom said, taking his seat.

Both Scorpius and Damien downed their potion and sat back in their chairs.

“Damien, I believe we will start with you,” Longbottom said. “What is the issue? Why do you suddenly dislike Scorpius so much?”

Damien fought the potion for a moment before giving in. “Because he is a traitor who has chosen his half-blood slut over his own House and his friends,” he spat out.

Scorpius tried to jump from his chair but acted as if he was being held by an unseen hand. “That's not true!” Scorpius said between gritted teeth. “You were the ones who froze me out when you figured it out. I tried to stay friends but you wanted no part of it.”

I looked at Astoria and she seemed as lost as me. “Wait a second,” I asked. “Scorpius, are you telling me that you have a girlfriend?”

“Yes, I do,” he answered, looking down.

“Tell him, Scorpius,” Damien sneered. “Go ahead tell dear old, former Death Eater, dad who his son is in love with. This should be fun.”

Scorpius had no choice but to answer. “Rose Weasley,” he said.

To say I was shocked would be an understatement. Astoria looked like she was somewhere between shock and rage. Blaise sat back, looking amused with the whole situation. He had just been supplied with a year's worth of information that he was going to use to take the piss out of me, and he looked as if Christmas had come early.

Everyone started talking at once. Longbottom raised his voice, restoring order in the process. “Damien, are you telling me the sole reason you have a problem with Scorpius' relationship,” Longbottom said, “is Ms. Weasley's blood status?”

Damien again tried to fight the potion to no avail. “Yes,” he said. “Isn't that enough?” Damien looked down at the floor, knowing he was doomed.

“You know the school policy, don't you?” Longbottom asked, addressing Damien.

Actually, we all did. It was huge news after the war. Due to several statutes that had been passed, discrimination and discriminatory speech were no longer allowed on Hogwarts grounds nor on Ministry property. The law was passed during a reactionary swing in public opinion. Repeated, documented offenses could lead to being sacked at the Ministry or expulsion from Hogwarts. I gathered from his body language that this wasn't Damien's first run in with this rule.

“So all this mess is simply because you don't like his girlfriend?” Blaise asked, speaking for the first time.

“Yes,” Damien answered, looking at the floor.

“I know I taught you better than this,” Blaise said. “Never let a woman have so much power over you as to make you lose control of your actions.”

“Now, Scorpius,” Longbottom said, looking at him. “You know that fighting, no matter the cause, must be punished. I believe you will not be allowed on Hogsmeade trips this term. Also, you will be serving detention the next three weekends. Let this serve as a final warning: further fighting will not be tolerated and could lead to suspension from the Slytherin Quidditch team. Am I clear?”

“That's it?” Astoria protested. “Shouldn't he be punished for deserting his housemates?” she asked.

“I don't believe Scorpius has deserted anyone,” Longbottom answered coldly.

“But...” she started to complain further.

“Tori, just stop,” I spoke up. “Scorpius will be punished for what he has done that was wrong. Regardless of how we feel about his choice of girlfriend, it is just that, his choice, and it's not our decision to make.” Everyone in the room looked at me as if I had grown a second head and was now yodeling the latest Weird Sisters' single. “I know what it's like not to have any choice, Astoria,” I said. “And so do you.”

Longbottom turned to Damien. “This is your third documented violation of the anti-prejudice rules here at Hogwarts. Normally this would lead to expulsion. You, however seem to have some benefactors on the Board of Governors. They did make it clear that this was to be your last chance.” Longbottom paused for a moment. “In addition to the normal punishments, which are no Hogsmeade and detentions, you will be enrolled immediately in Muggle Studies. Your continued education here is dependent on you receiving a passing grade. Do you understand the conditions of your continued education?” he asked Damien.

“Yes,” Damien answered quietly.

“Good, now with that settled, I think young Masters Malfoy and Zabini should return to their studies,” Longbottom said, standing up, signaling the meeting was over.

We all stood and walked into the outer office. Scorpius and Damien left through the main door and Blaise left via Floo. Astoria stayed behind and asked to speak with me for a moment.

“This relationship of Scorpius' is not acceptable,” she said in hushed but angry tones. “You know his future is planned,” she hissed at me, stepping into the fireplace.

“No, I don't know that. You and my mother set that up,” I snapped back. I softened my voice. “Think about it, Tori. Can you honestly say that our arrangement has made you happy?” I asked.

“Happiness is overrated,” she answered, taking a handful of powder.

“Just consider what I said, alright? He should be able to do what makes him happy and, more to the point, with whomever makes him happy.”

Astoria looked at me with a look I did not recognize. She nodded, then disappeared in a green flash. I stayed in the main office, waiting on Longbottom who had gone into another side room. I looked around the office. Behind the large desk sat a portrait of Dumbledore. To the right of him was a portrait of McGonagall. It was the portrait to the left of him that surprised me. There, resting with his eyes closed, was Severus Snape.

I heard Longbottom move behind me.

“I didn't know he had a portrait here,” I commented.

“We don't advertise it,” Longbottom explained. “There are still many people who have neither forgiven nor forgotten.”

“Tell me about it,” I muttered, almost inaudibly.

“Was there something you needed, Mr. Malfoy?” Longbottom asked, bringing my attention back to the conversation.

“Yes, I need to speak to Professor Martine, and I also wanted to avail myself of the alumni section of the library if I could,” I said.

Longbottom looked shocked at the second part of the request. “Shouldn't be a problem, though I think other than Hermione Weasley, you are the only alumnus to take advantage of the library.” He scribbled something on a piece of parchment then stamped it with an official looking seal. “This should get you everything you need,” he said, handing me the note.

Now if only it had been just that easy.


	5. Chapter 5

Malfoy Files Chapter 5

Professor Martine was in his office that was connected to his classroom. Emile Martine was a small man of slight build. He appeared to be of advanced age; however, being a wizard meant one could never tell. While Emile Martine was the current Muggle Studies teacher at Hogwarts, those with the right connections also knew that Emile used to be one of the most prolific and successful art thieves in the world, known to both Muggle and Wizard authorities as The Specter. He was the subject of a continent-wide investigation covering both the Muggle and Wizarding worlds. The authorities could never prove anything. Emile had been retired for several years when our paths crossed. He stood accused of the murder of a young man presumed to be his protégé. While Emile admitted a relationship with the young man he denied any involvement in the man's death. I proved Emile innocent but only by exposing the young man's affair with a prominent member of the Wizengamot. This revelation led to the true killer, the politician's wife. Needless to say Emile owed me.

“Draco, my dear boy. What brings you here today?” Emile greeted me at the door of his office with a snifter in his hand. He was wearing a maroon and gold smoking jacket. His silver hair was pulled back in a ponytail.

“I need some information,” I said. getting right to the point.

“Well, I don't know what knowledge a simple man like myself could impart to such a worldly figure as yourself,” he said, taking a seat in one of the high-backed chairs. “Come in, though. Would you like some tea or perhaps something stronger?” he asked, taking a seat behind his desk.

“No thanks. I'm not here socially. I need to tap your knowledge and resources,” I said, taking the seat across from him.

“It's been a long time since I was involved in that world,” he said, pouring himself a shot from a brown jug. “I am truly retired.”

“Emile, I am aware of that. You do, however, still have your network of contacts,” I said. “I am doing a job for the Saterbournes.” Emile looked surprised at the name of my clients. “It has to do with the theft of several items, most likely Muggle. So I thought that you might be able to help,” I said hopefully.

“Well, I always did like a good mystery or puzzle,” he said, pouring another drink. “Are you sure I can't interest you?” he asked, holding up the jug.

“What is it this time?” I asked. Emile had a taste for exotic liqueurs.

“I believe it is called Kua Pia. It is made from fermented rice and bananas. It's quite strong and tasty,” he said, taking a sip.

“Um, no thanks,” I said. “What can you tell me about these?” I asked, sliding him the folder with my information. I waited patiently while Emile read the read the info and studied the photos.

“So both items were stolen at the same time?” I nodded yes. “Well, first of all the dagger is most definitely not Muggle,” Emile said his eyes now alive with thought. “It is most likely goblin-made. Is there any other information on the dagger?”

“No.” Emile looked concerned. “Why? What's the matter?” I asked.

“Well, all goblin-made items are marked both magically and physically,” he explained. “Goblins want to be able to track all their items. It's kind of like Lojack for items.” I looked confused at this. “Sorry, Lojack is a Muggle device that they use to track their cars and electronic devices if they ever get stolen.”

“So what you're saying is the goblins would be able to track this?” I asked.

“That's the point, isn't it? If they could track it, they would have recovered it. This appears to have been made without the physical markings. Of course, with these only being photos I cannot tell if it has the magical markings. It is safe to assume it does not.”

“Great, how does that help?” I asked.

“Did you know it before?” he sniffed, taking a drink.

“Well, no,” I admitted.

“Then it helped,” he said. “There are several possibilities for this. One, the dagger could have been made before the goblin-wizard wars, when the goblins started marking their items. Two, the dagger could have been altered after being made. This is highly unlikely, as it's only been successfully accomplished once: Godric Gryffindor's sword,” he said, ticking off the possibilities on his fingers. “Three, there could be a rogue goblin or tribe making unmarked items. This is unlikely as well, because any rogues would be dealt with rather severely.”

“So that leaves us with the most likely scenario being that it's a really old dagger,” I said. “What can you tell me about the book?”

“It appears, from the pictures and descriptions, to be entirely Muggle. What if anything is known about the author?” he asked, pouring yet another drink.

“Just an insane twelfth century monk,” I answered.

“That period of time is very interesting,” Emile said, as if starting a lecture. “That is the era of time that several Muggle monasteries had become interested on magic and its origins.”

“Magic-using monks?” I asked, incredulously. “Did they succeed?”

“Beyond some rudimentary rituals and even fewer potions, no.”

“Now that your respectable questions are out of the way ...” Emile said with a slight smile.

“Yes, about those,” I started. “Who would be the fence most likely contacted? And the Saterbourne estate is not the easiest of places to rob. A short list of people able to pull it off would be nice,” I said, pushing my luck.

“As far as fences go there is only one who deals in items that old.”

I winced because I could guess the name. “Bryce?” I asked, hoping I was wrong.

“Yes, Bryce. She's not still a problem for you, is she?”

“Why would she be a problem?” I asked, feigning ignorance.

“If memory serves, the last time you two parted ways, didn't she threaten to hex your bullocks into your eye sockets if she ever saw you again?” Emile asked, delighting in my discomfort.

“I am sure she has forgotten about all that. Besides I think she was exaggerating. I don't even think that's possible.”

“I am sure she would like to find out together,” Emile quipped.

“Okay, what about thieves?” I asked, changing the subject.

“It couldn't have been easy,” he said, shaking his head. “The Saterbournes would have state of the art Muggle systems along with the maximum magic that would still allow the electronics to work. I would require someone of unique skill to move with such ease between both worlds.”

“Like you?”

“Allegedly!” Emile protested.

“Allegedly then. Any ideas who could have done it?”

“There are a few, but my Galleon would be on Petra,” he said.

“Got a last name?”

He shook his head, “I doubt Petra is even her real first name.”

“Can you reach out and let Petra know I want to talk to her?” I asked.

“For you, dear boy, I can certainly try. I cannot, however, guarantee she will wish to speak with you,” he said swirling his drink in his hand.

“Fine, tell her how and where to reach me,” I said standing up to leave. “Oh, and Emile?”

“Yes?” he asked, looking up from the folder I left with him.

“This still doesn't make us even,” I smirked, closing the door to his office.


	6. Chapter 6

I made my way to the library, passing several students and a few professors. I tried not to think about my days at the school as a student. I have precious few pleasant childhood memories, and none of them revolve around Hogwarts. Even though it had been over twenty-five years, I still got a few glares and whispers as I walked along. I am used to it and accept my past. I know I was a horrid little shit in school. If the same situations arouse today, I hope my actions would be different. Let's face it: are any of us the person we were when we were sixteen? I know I'm not, and I hope that others have changed as well.

I reached the library and showed the librarian the parchment from Headmaster Longbottom. She showed me where the alumni reading room was and asked if I needed any help finding anything in particular. I said no thank you and was left alone. The first thing I did was familiarize myself with twelfth century monastic orders. The library didn't have much, and I didn't learn anything new. Next I decided to look up what information they had on goblin items and their history. This was a little more useful and a lot more interesting. I had lost track of time when a young girl, looked to be a fourth or fifth year, told me the library was closing. I looked at my watch and was surprised to see the time. The girl told me to just leave the books and she would put them away. I thanked her and left the room.

It was still relatively early, and I definitely did not want to go home. I decided to walk to the Hog’s Head and grab a drink. Maybe I could find out something about the theft as well. I left the library, walking past Filch's ghost as he was talking with Madam Pince's ghost. It has always amazed me as to why someone would become a ghost. This world is not so great that I intend to spend eternity here.

As I walked out of the castle gates, I heard two people talking as they came across the bridge. I recognized one of the voices as my son and wondered what he was doing out of the castle after hours. I quickly cast a disillusionment charm and stepped to one side of the bridge.

“Scorp, would you just slow down? You're gonna get us in trouble ... again,” a dark-haired boy my son's age said. This boy was obviously a Potter. If it weren't for the lack of a scar, he would be Harry Potter's double.

“Al. Would you just calm down? I swear you're a paranoid old lady sometimes,” my son answered.

“Let's at least check the map,” Albus said. Scorpius sighed impatiently.

“I know you're in a hurry to get to your snog session with my cousin, but if we go barging into the castle at this hour, we might as well hang a sign around our necks that says 'Stop us and ask us where we've been,'” Albus said.

“Fine, check your map,” Scorpius said.

“I solemnly swear that I am up to no good,” I heard Albus say, pointing his wand at a piece of parchment.

Scorpius looked over his shoulder with his wand lit up. “Let's see,” Scorpius said, looking at the parchment. “Here we are and the only person near us is ... OH! FUCK!”

“What?” asked Albus, looking at the “map” as well. “Oh,” he said knowingly.

“Um ... Dad?” Scorpius asked nervously

I moved a few feet in front of the two. It was amazing how, in the moonlight, these two looked so much like their fathers. I dropped the charm and immediately growled at my son. “What the bloody hell is the matter with you?” I snapped, holding my son's eyes. “You are not even one day removed from a meeting that required my presence. Do you want to be expelled?”

Scorpius looked afraid, as I could still command the Malfoy presence when I wanted to. “Dad, it's not that big of a deal. I just wanted to get away from those idiots for a while and Al went with me,” Scorpius tried explaining.

“Albus,” I said, looking at the other boy. “It is Albus, isn't it?” He nodded in response, turning almost as pale as Scorpius. “Could you please give me a moment with my son?” Albus moved off towards the entrance of the castle.

I leaned against the guardrail and looked out at the ravine the bridge spans. “Look, Scorpius, I want all the best for you, and I know it's not easy being my son. You are better than this. Fighting blatantly, disregarding the rules?” I looked at him.

“But you disregard rules and laws all the time,” he protested.

“You're right, I do, and my answer is the same: you're better than me, your mother or your grandparents. You have a chance here. A chance I was never given,” I explained. “Do you know what that chance is?”

He looked at me hopelessly and shook his head. “No, not really.”

“Well ...” I sighed. “Just think on it. You're a smart boy and you have some very clever friends. I am sure you can figure it out. You should go in, and try and stay out of sight, okay?”

Scorpius nodded. He hesitated for a few seconds, then stepped forward and hugged me. “See you later Dad,” he said.

“I hope not until the holidays,” I smirked, returning the hug.

As he ran back to the castle I stood for a moment longer and looked into the dark valley. I hoped that he would soon understand what it was I was trying to get him to understand.

I turned and headed off towards Hogsmeade, lost in my own thoughts and memories.


	7. Chapter 7

I made my way down the dark street to the Hog’s Head. This bar was one of those rare places where no one asked your name and even fewer people cared. Aberforth Dumbledore still ran the bar despite his advanced age. He always joked it was due to the amazing restorative properties of goats.

I entered the smoky tap room, my eyes adjusting to the firelight. As it was Monday night, the room was mostly empty containing only a few regulars.

“Hey Ab,” I said walking to the bar. “Give me a double Firewhiskey and hold the water.”

“You wound me with your baseless accusations,” Ab snapped, sliding me a drink.

“I am sure your stellar reputation as a fine upstanding member of the community can withstand it,” I said, paying for my drink.

I was nursing my second drink and debating with myself whether to go back to my office and go over the files, go home, or just rent a room and get thoroughly polluted. I was still trying to decide what to do when the doors opened and two young men in dark blue robes entered the bar. They were Aurors and not very experienced ones judging by the looks of them. One of them had sandy brown hair while his partner was bald.

“What the devil do you want?” Aberforth growled, moving his hand beneath the bar. Several of the patrons moved out of the line of fire.

“Take it easy, gramps,” sandy-haired sneered. “We don't wanna have to run you in.”

“Yeah,” his partner said. “We're on official business so bugger off.”

“Smith, Winslow,” snarled a gravelly voice from behind the two Aurors. “What the bloody hell is wrong with you? I told you to wait for me before coming in.” The owner of the voice was a very stocky, gray-haired wizard. He wore an eye patch that covered a scar that ran from his left temple under the patch across his nose and ending on his right cheek. He had an elaborate brace on his right leg that squeaked when he walked and caused him to limp. 

“Sorry, sir,” the bald one started to explain. “We thought we should secure the area.”

“Did I tell you to secure the inside? No! You two are about as worthless as tits on a bull.” The older Auror moved between Aberforth and the others. “Now you, Tweedledum, take Tweedledumer there and go outside. One of you watch left, the other watch right,” he continued to growl. “Ya think you two mental midgets can handle that?”

“Yes sir!” both men barked and quickly left the bar.

“Sorry, Ab. Trainees,” the man explained, jerking his thumb towards the door. “They're full of piss and vinegar, but they don't have the sense of one of your goats.”

“Don't you be insulting my goats, Boot, or you can just bloody well leave,” Aberforth growled, but he did remove his hand from beneath the bar.

“Relax Ab, I really am here on official business,” the man said, looking at me and moving towards my chair.

Crap. I knew that look and it never bode well for me.

“Draco Malfoy?” he asked.

“You know I am. What can I do for you?” I asked, draining the last of my drink.

“I am Auror First Class Terry Boot. We need you to come down to headquarters and help us identify someone.”

“As in a dead someone,” I asked, “or a live one?”

“There is no easy way to say this so I am just gonna come out and say it. The Auror department recovered a body from a river this afternoon. It appears to be your father.”

“Are you sure?” I asked, shaking my head to clear the whiskey fog.

“As sure as we can be, which is why we need you to come down, make an identification, and answer a few questions,” Boot said.

“Um, yeah. Okay, I can come down,” I said, still in shock. “Hey, Ab, can I use your Floo?” I wasn't going to apparate in my current condition. Aberforth grunted and jerked his head towards the fireplace.

“Just a moment,” Boot said. “I'll go with you.”

He walked to the front door. “Smith, Winslow, you two head back to headquarters. I'll meet ya there.”

We both walked to the fireplace. Boot went first to show me what to say. “Auror Headquarters Receiving,” Boot called out, throwing down a handful powder and disappearing in a plume of green flame. I followed him, saying the same thing.

I arrived, stepping from the fireplace into a crowded receiving room. Even thought it was a Monday night the room was busy with people who looked accustomed to being there. I recognized a few hookers and pushers from Knockturn Alley.

“Hey, Charlie,” Boot said to the busy Auror manning the reception desk.

The man nodded, not stopping his conversation with the elderly witch in front of him. “Look, lady. I don't care what moon of which planet is in what house, if yer gonna go outside ya gotta wear clothes,” the man said.

“I am going up to investigations,” Boot explained to the desk Auror. “Toss me a visitors badge, would ya?” Charlie reached in a drawer and tossed Boot a badge. “Here, put this on and follow me,” Boot said to me.

I clipped the badge to my shirt and followed Boot through the crowded room and into a lift.

“No, ma'am, I don't wanna read yer warts,” I heard Charlie yelling as the doors slid shut.

After a few seconds the lift doors opened into a well-lit, very spacious room. There were multiple desks in the room, paired up so they were facing one another. This was my first visit to the new DMLE headquarters. It used to be housed in the same building as all the other departments. It had been one of the many Potter Initiatives, a series of proposals and changes instituted by Harry Potter upon being named Head Auror. The DMLE was moved to a separate building to give at least a semblance of impartiality.

As we moved around the outside of the room, I read some of the names on the office doors. Harry Potter H.A. Ronald Weasley D.H.A. Hermione Weasley D.S. I was amazed at how many of my schoolmates were either in law enforcement or, like Blaise and myself, spent a good deal of time avoiding it.

We made our way to a small waiting area with a few couches and chairs.

“If you could please wait here. Auror Phillips will be with you in a few minutes,” Boot said to me, turning his back and heading into his office.

“Smith! Winslow!” he bellowed. “Get your sorry arses into my office ... NOW!”

I took a seat and waited. Boot was yelling so loudly that the closed door to his office shook. I could only make out bits and pieces of what he was saying, but it made me glad I was not an Auror Trainee.

“You're damn lucky he didn't hex your bullocks off,” he yelled while opening his office door. “I want a full action report from each of you before you leave tonight.” The two trainees scurried from his office with red faces.

“Mr. Malfoy? I am Auror Second Class Alec Phillips,” a middle-aged man with black horn-rimmed glasses and a receding hairline introduced himself, extending his hand. I shook his hand. “Are you up to making an identification now?” he asked showing trained sympathy.

“Might as well get it over with,” I answered.

We reentered the lift. Phillips said, “Medical Examinations,” and the lift took off.

After a few seconds of strained silence, the doors opened and he led me through a series of desks and offices to a large, gray, metal, swinging door.

“Let me warn you, sir,” Phillips said to me. “He is not a pretty sight.”

“Okay.” I didn't know what else to say.

We entered a small well-lit room. Behind a large glass wall stood a man in white robes with a surgical mask. Next to the man was a metal table with a white sheet, obviously covering a body. Phillips nodded to the man, and he lifted the sheet. There, laid out on the table, was my father. I could tell it was him as he still had his long silver hair, pointed chin, and hawk-like nose. What he did not have was his eyes. Where they should have been were two large jagged wounds. I nodded numbly to Auror Phillips, positively identifying my father's body. I always knew this could happen given his history and beliefs. The thing that concerned me the most was all I felt was shock and maybe even a little bit of relief.


	8. Chapter 8

Malfoy Files Chapter 8

I sat in a small, windowless room. I was sitting one of the three wooden chairs situated around a square table. Across from me in the other two chairs sat Auror Phillips and an old “friend” of mine, Ron Weasley. There is no love lost between myself and Weasley. I readily admit I was a horrid little shit in school, and many of the times the focus of my derision was Weasley and his family. Whereas Weasley's boss, Harry Potter, and myself have come to mutual understanding, Weasley and I had never had the opportunity nor the desire to become even a little friendly.

“Cut the shit, Malfoy, we all know you hated your father enough to do this,” Weasley said, slamming his fist on the table. Weasley was intimidating, I'll give him that. He had certainly grown into his 6'3” frame. I guess being an Auror paid off for him.

“Maybe you didn't mean to kill him,” Phillips jumped in, playing the “good cop” role. “You know, you fight and you just lose it. If that's what happened, we can help you with the Wizengamot.”

I sighed and rubbed my eyes. “Look, I'll tell you again, and this time I'll say it real slow so Weasley here can understand,” I said, jerking my head towards Weasley. “I had nothing to do with this. Aside from holidays, I have not talked to my father in close to a year. Besides, you should be checking with the Muggle authorities.”

“Oh really,” Phillips said. “Why is that?”  
I pinched the bridge of my nose in frustration. “Think about it, why would a wizard kill him in that way?” I said. “We have much more effective ways of dispatching someone. We would use a spell, right? There's no spell I know of that would do that to a man's eyes.”

“We are looking into all angles,” Weasley said dismissively. “Including the possibility he was killed by the remnants of the Pureblood Supremacy movement. What can you tell us about that?”

“Again, I don't know anything more about them than you already do. I haven't been involved with those people or been around that scene since the war,” I snapped, letting my frustration show. “Besides, that group is so fractured and disjointed that they couldn't organize an orgy in a whorehouse,” I smirked. “Now, am I in custody?”

“No, but stay where we can get ahold of you if needed,” Weasley answered me, standing up.

“I am always available to help our civil servants,” I said sarcastically.

“Get the hell outta here,” Weasley growled as he walked out the door, “Before I lock you up for being a general pain in my ass.”

“You know,” Phillips said, gathering his papers. “He could make your life hell and pull your license. So you may wanna can the attitude and help us with the investigation.”

“I didn't think your boss wanted me involved? In fact, didn't he just tell me to bugger off?”

“He's not here right now, is he?” Phillips said, opening the door to the room. “Besides, it's my case to run as I see fit. I happen to think you're an asset I cannot afford to ignore.” He waited for me to get up. “I want you to use your contacts to see if anyone had it out for your father.”

“Are you kidding me? I couldn't begin to list all of his enemies,” I said, walking through the door, “The Pureblood Supremacists hated him because he got off and turned on them. The other side hated him cause he was a Death Eater. And those that don't care about politics hated him on general principle. He was kind of a prick, ya know.” I paused. “Look, I will keep my eyes and ears open. If I find anything out, I will let you know.”

“Alright, you're free to go,” he said and escorted me back to the visitor's lift.

-ooo-

After stopping at a Muggle store for coffee and scones, I went back to my office. I cleaned up in the bathroom and decided I would stay the night there. I looked at my watch; it was already four AM. I sat at my desk and looked through the post Gertrude had left on my desk. My eyes blurred with fatigue, and I couldn't concentrate. I took of my clothes and conjured a camp bed. I was asleep in minutes.

I awoke four hours later to the smell of tea and bacon. I looked at my watch and realized that Gertrude must be in already. I washed up in the bathroom and put on the spare clothes I keep for these occasions. I opened the door to my office to find Gertrude reading a magazine.

“Mornin Mr. M,” she said, not looking up from the magazine. “I have fresh tea in the pot and bacon sandwiches.”

“Merlin, you're a life saver, Gertie,” I said, pouring myself a cup of tea. “What would I do without you?”

“Probably starve and have caffeine headaches.”

“You're probably right,” I said, putting one sandwich in my mouth to hold it while carrying another and my cup in my hands.”

I returned to my office and she followed me in holding pile of mail. I sat at my desk and she put the post in front of me.

“This all with the early owls,” she said.

I took the sandwich out of my mouth and put it on my desk with the other. “Oh Gertie, I want you to send a bill to the Auror department for services rendered, Standard rate for,” I calculated the number of sours I was questioned, “four and a half hours. Make it care of Aurors Weasley and Phillips,” I smirked. I wanted to see Weasley's face when that arrived.


	9. Chapter 9

Malfoy Files Chapter 9

It turns out the address on the paper that I got from the man who followed me was to a warehouse that had been abandoned. The mail from that warehouse was being forwarded to a PO Box. This meant another stakeout. I decided I would use my car for this. Due to the fact that I worked in the Muggle world, I had found the need for Muggle transportation a few times. The car was especially good on stakeouts. It was a lot better than standing under a cloak or with a disillusionment charm on you. You have a comfortable seat, you're out of the weather, you can listen to music (or at least what passes for it in the Muggle world) and you can still cast the disillusionment charm and the car appears empty.

I apparated to the garage where I kept my car, and fifteen minutes later I pulled up down the street from the Post Office. After setting some proximity charms around the specific box I was watching, I returned to the car and settled in. I brought the book for something to do while I waited. Not really wanting to put a lot of thought into studying the book, I decided to flip through the pages. I discovered two of the pages were stuck together, but rather than by design it appeared that it was done on purpose. I used my wand to pry the two pages apart. On one of the revealed pages there was a series of symbols and several of what again appeared to be potion lists. On the bottom of the page was a very cryptic passage that almost read like a prophecy.

'Blood from the heirs of the three and their enemy. Bones of the servant who wasn't. Eyes that have seen murder. Ears that have ignored pleas. Tongue that has spoken lies.'

The words were accompanied by several symbols and phrases in a language I didn't recognize, and my translation charm didn't work on them. It was the other page that grabbed my attention more. There in full color was a rendition of the exact dagger for which I was looking.

I was so engrossed in my only clue that I almost missed my proximity alarm going off. I got out of the car and sprinted across the street. A young man with dark skin and thick dreadlocks came out of the building holding the mail from the box. I made sure my charm was still active and fell in behind him.

The guy was good. I would have never been able to follow him without the spell. He doubled back three times and took two trains before finally getting off at a stop just a few blocks from the Saterbourne Estate. So either my client or someone in her family had me followed. I followed Dreadlocks all the way to the estate just to make sure before apparating back to my car.

Once back in the office I sent an owl to Astoria telling her I was working a case and didn't expect to be home in a few days. I wasn't expecting a response and I didn't get one. I also sent Ms. Saterbourne an owl requesting a meeting at her earliest convenience. She sent back an owl stating she would be in my office tomorrow promptly at eight AM.

I spent the rest of the afternoon and evening trying to make any sense of the book and the newly discovered pages. I don't know if it was the complexity of the runes or the half-consumed bottle of firewhiskey in front of me, but I became thoroughly confused. So, I went to bed.

I was already in a bad mood when Ms. Saterbourne entered my office, as she had promised, promptly at eight, with Dreadlocks in tow.

“Mr. Malfoy,” she started. “You wanted to see me?”

Dreadlocks leaned against the far wall with composed relaxation. He looked like the hyperaware type, and the type of man that if it came to violence you wanted him on your side.

“Yes, firstly I wanted to give you a progress report, such as it is. I do not believe the book nor the dagger were stolen to be sold. I believe they were stolen for the knowledge that they may contain.” I paused a moment, taking a sip of my coffee. “Secondly, and more importantly, in order to do my job I need to go places and talk to people in private. Someone, either at your behest or behind your back, hired a rather pathetic professional to follow me. That needs to stop, today.”

“Mr. Malfoy, I intend to keep track of my investment,” she said with an air of superiority. “How am I to be sure that once you've located the items, you won't just keep them?”

“Because I took the job and said I would find the items and return them to you,” I said, trying to match her previous tone. “I am not in the habit of lying to customers, it's bad for business.” I sighed loudly and rubbed my chin. “Look, if you don't trust me, then pay me what you owe me and fire me,” I said, looking coldly into her eyes. “If you want me to keep working, then back off and let me do my job.”

“Mr. Malfoy, I am not accustomed to being spoken to in such a manner,” she protested. “When I pay for something, I own it and control it.”

I sighed again, letting my frustrations show by pinching the bridge of my nose. “Ms. Saterbourne, I am in your employ, nothing else. You will get information and updates when I deem necessary. Is that understood?” I said, putting extra force in my tone.

“There is no call to be uncivil,” she said, turning her nose up.

“Lady, considering the last couple of days I've had,” I said, smirking. “I have been the epitome of civil. Now, if you will excuse me, I have a funeral to plan, estate papers to file, and your case to try and solve,” I said with a note of finality.

“Very well,” she said, standing up. “But I will not remain patient forever. I expect results and soon.”

“I'll try and keep that in mind,” I said dismissively as she left my office.

\---ooo---

The next few days were filled with making arrangements for the funeral while still trying to decipher the text and symbols in the book. I had finally been in touch with my mother. She seemed to taking my father's death remarkably well, telling me to advise her when the funeral would be, and if her schedule permitted she would attend. It was heartwarming, really. The Prophet caught wind of my father's murder and sent me a request for comment. I sent back and owl saying, 'Fuck off!' They ended up reporting it on page five with several anonymous quotes saying he deserved worse.

I was getting nowhere with the book, so I decided to look into my father's last known whereabouts and activities. I apparated to the mansion, knowing the wards had been adjusted to let me in. I was met at the door by Lizzie, my father's elf. Well, I guessed she was mine now. I asked her to bring me some tea in my father's study. I figured that was as good a place as any to start looking.

“Oh, Master Lucius is being in there now,” Lizzie said, sounding afraid.

“What do you mean?” I asked. “My father is dead.”

“Lizzie knows that,” she squeaked. “But he is being here since then.”

“I don't under...” I started to say, then it dawned on me. “He's a ghost?” Lizzie nodded, looking like she would bolt at any moment. “You don't have to worry about the tea, then,” I said absently as I went to his office door.

Actually, my father being a ghost made perfect sense. If ever there was a more malevolent, vicious, and downright cowardly man, I had not been made aware of him. Crossing over or moving on never would have appealed to him. The ability to come back and try and make people miserable forever? That's a different story.

I stopped at the door to the office to steady myself, by remembering that ghosts couldn't effect the real world, or at least I hoped. I opened the door and went in. Everything appeared in order. It was then I saw him hovering in a corner facing the wall. I really was not prepared for the gruesome sight that greeted me when he turned to face me. His face was contorted in pain and where is eyes should have been were gaping wounds oozing silver blood. He was still dressed in the clothes he died in.

“What do you want here, boy?” he snarled, his voice dripping with malice. “You ever were a failure, you know that? If you had only done what was required then it would have been glorious.”

“Hello, Father. I was coming to see if I could find out who murdered you,” I said, allowing no emotion to show in my voice. “Perhaps you could save me some time and just tell me.”

“Why would I help you?” he said spitefully “I will still be dead.”

I shrugged my shoulders. “Suit yourself,” I said dismissively.

I sat at my father's desk and looked through the papers he had left laying out. Nothing looked unusual or interesting. The drawers of the desk didn't contain anything of interest either. I decided to look through the small collection of books he had always kept in here instead of our main library. Most of the books were what you would expect a Pureblood fanatic to have. Volumes on Pureblood genealogy, books about the dangers and evils of Muggle-borns, a history of the Knights of Walpurgis, a history of the Malfoy family. The book that really caught my attention was an older-looking book that was bound in dark leather. I recognized the title from my attempts to decipher the other book as it had been referenced several times. Sanguimancy: The Art and Magic of Blood. I picked up the book and started to flip through it.

“You might as well put that back, boy,” my father's ghost sneered at me. “You have neither the power nor the courage to attempt the magic it contains.”

I wasn't sure if it meant anything, but here was proof of a connection I had already suspected between the Saterbourne case and my father's murder. I placed that book and the one on the Malfoy history into an attaché case I found in the office. 

“I wish I could say it was a pleasure speaking with you, Father,” I said, walking to the door. “But I try not to lie unless necessary.”

“You run along, boy,” my father spat. “I take solace in the possibility that my grandson will restore the Malfoy name back to its rightful place. A name not to be ridiculed or scorned, but a name to be respected and, most of all, feared.”

“Well, good luck with that,” I said, opening the door. “Oh, did I tell you; Scorpius has a new girlfriend.” I smirked. “Rose Weasley. They are pretty serious from what I hear. I would be surprised if they waited until they graduated to get married. Just imagine: Malfoy blood mixing with, of all things, Weasley blood.” I smirked knowingly and walked through the door, closing it, muffling my father's enraged screams in the process.


	10. Chapter 10

Malfoy Files Chapter 10

I was getting nowhere with my comprehension of the book or the hidden pages. All I know for sure was it was somehow connected to a branch of magic I had never heard of. I could find no reference to Sanguimancy in any of the usual tomes I check: Tobin's Spirit Guide, The Mrin and Darine Codices, and lastly the Roylance Guide (of Secret Societies and Sects). I knew I would need the help of an expert in the field of dark magic so I decided to make an appointment with one such expert. Horace Slughorn had retired years ago from his position as Potions Master at Hogwarts. He now made money selling his expertise in potions and his knowledge of the Dark Arts to those with “theoretical” questions.

It turned out the appointment I made with Slughorn was on the same day as my father's funeral. I decided to do nothing additional for his funeral other than what he had laid out in his will. Aside from Astoria, Scorpius, Blaise and myself, very few other people made time to attend the services. Predictably Mother could not fit attending the funeral into her extremely busy schedule.

“I only showed up for the free bar,” Blaise said, shaking my hand after the service.

“Blaise, you own a bar,” I said, shaking my head.

Astoria and I exchanged goodbyes and decided that she would take Scorpius back to Hogwarts while I went to my appointment. Thankfully she had decided that she would leave Scorpius alone about his choice of girlfriend.

Astoria really is a fine woman. Sometimes I think if we were just left to our own devices, allowed to develop our own relationship rather than being forced together, we might have grown into something special. Oh, well. At that point, that ship had sailed, and the prospects seemed unlikely.

I hugged Scorpius goodbye and told him to do well. I disapparated from the funeral service directly to my meeting.

\--ooo--

There was no other way to describe Horace Slughorn other than old. He was confined to a spelled chair that hovered wherever he willed it to go. His hand shook so badly that he could no longer do the precise work potion-making required. His mind was still as sharp as ever, though.

I entered his office and approached him. “Professor Slughorn,” I said, extending my hand. “Thank you for seeing me.”

“No problem at all,” he said coldly, ignoring my hand. “What can I do for you?”

I recognized this look. I had seen it quite often. He had not gotten over the war or the role my family played in it.

“I have two texts I would like you to look at,” I said, producing the two books I had. “I need you to tell me if there is any way they might be connected?”

“I will take a look,” he said. “I assume that the standard fee has been paid to my assistant?” I nodded.  
He picked up the book from my father's study and turned it so he could read the title. He gasped and dropped the book as if it bit him. “Merlin's beard,” he said, almost hissing. “Where did you get that book? They were all supposed to be destroyed years ago.”

“The book was in a private library I came across,” I explained. “It has many of the same symbols as this other book and may be related to a case I am working.”

“I will not be a party to the magics that are in that book,” he said, pointing to the table. “It is illegal to even been in possession of it.”

“Okay, what, if anything, can you tell me about this other book?” I asked, sliding the other book over to him.

He leafed through the book for a few minutes and placed it back on the table. “This is a copy of an illuminated manuscript from a very eclectic sect of the Catholic Church that arose in the 1200's,” he said, pausing. “But I assume you already know that.”

“What I want to know is why there are several pages that look like potion lists?” I asked, opening the book to a certain page and turning so he could read it. “And what do these symbols mean, and why are they in the other book as well?”

“Again we have entered into an area I will not speak of.”

“I am willing to double your fee,” I offered. “This is my only solid lead and I need information.”

“All I will say is that the books both contain instructions on how to invoke an ancient and evil branch of magic,” he said adamantly

“Can you at least point me to someone who might be able and willing to help me?” I asked.

Slughorn looked around nervously as if to make sure we were still alone. “The only person that studied these magics and might be willing to talk is currently in Azkaban.”

“Great.” I sighed sarcastically. “Give me the name and I can go from there.”

“Oh, I believe you know the name already. It's Rabastan Lestrange.”

I nodded, handed the additional galleons to him, and left the office. Now all I needed to do was find some way to get a visitation with the most notorious surviving Death Eater while getting the authorities to ignore that I am one as well. Sometimes my job's so easy it makes me ashamed.

\--ooo--

 

I contacted Auror Phillips to see if he was able to help me get in to see Lestrange, and he had not contacted me back yet so I was at a standstill. I was sitting in my office going over my “all-time seen play in person” Quidditch team in my head. I was debating whether to play Katie Bell or Ginny Potter in the three position. It was an important decision as the three slot is the field captain and calls the formations and plays.

My door opened and a very large man with thick calloused hands and neck the size of a bull entered. He looked around then went to the doorway and nodded. A young woman, a girl really, entered my office closing the door behind her. She moved gracefully and economically as if she hated wasting any movement.

“Mr Malfoy, do you know who I am?” she asked sitting in the chair across from me.

“You're from the Quidditch Historical Society, you've heard of my dilemma between Potter and Bell, and you've come to help?”

The young woman smiled a hollow smile and nodded. “Emile said you were over fond of your own wit.”

“I assume you're Petra then?” I asked. She nodded, shifting her positing in the chair. It was then that I noticed it was all a facade. This girl in front of me was scared, lost, and unsure of herself. “Emile said you might be coming by. Let me get right to it,” I said, observing her reactions. “Did you recently steal several artifacts from the Saterbourne family estate?”

“I like a man who is straightforward,” she said in what I assumed she thought was a seductive voice. “Why would I admit it to you if I did?”

“Do I look like the DMLEs?” I asked. “I just want to know if you had a hand in the theft. I assume you've checked my reputation so you know you can trust me to do what I say I will.”

“Well, I guess you're in luck. Let's say, for the sake of argument, that I was hired to steal said items. Let's also say that when I turned over those items I was paid significantly less than what was promised.” She smiled. “Then I was told to keep my mouth shut. Again, it is lucky for you I don't always do as I am told.”

“Okay, in your hypothetical, who hired you?”

“I was working for a mid-level fence named Bryce.” I winced at the mention of her name. Petra slid me a folded piece of paper. “This is where you would, hypothetically, find Bryce,” she said, smiling.

“And what do I owe you for this information?”

“I am sure we can think of something,” she said, licking her lips in what I am sure she thought was a very sexy way.

I looked at her and shook my head. “How old are you?”

“Does it matter?” she asked, lowering her voice.

“Does to me.” I said. “Tell you what. I owe you; if you ever need help or anything let me know.”

She appeared angry and stood up. “You don't know what you're missing, old man. I have men clamoring for my time and attention.”

“I am sure,” I said. “Just not me. If you need help with anything the hired muscle outside can't handle, let me know. I owe you.”

Still a little upset she nodded and left my office. I hated that she was so young and appeared to have grown up too fast. There was nothing I could do about it right then. I looked at the address and recognized the location. I just hoped I could get there before Bryce moved on.


	11. Chapter 11

Malfoy Files Chapter 11

 

This wasn't going to be easy. Despite what I had told Emile, Bryce hated me. For a while Bryce and I had an arraignment. It had ended badly, with her wanting more than I could offer her. She was fun and we had good times, but there was no way it could ever had been more. I knew the address on the parchment; it was a deserted warehouse.   
I apparated to the, supposedly deserted, warehouse. It was situated in a small magical community just outside northern London.   
I moved quickly from underneath the bewitched street-torches and moved into the shadows by the entrance to the warehouse. I opened the door as quietly as possible moved into the darkness. I couldn't see anything but didn't want to risk a light tipping off Bryce. I gave myself a few minutes for my eyes to adjust eventually making out shapes and forms. I could hear rats somewhere in the darkness searching for food. 

Eventually a thin yellow sliver of light came out from beneath a side door. I walked as quietly as I could to the door and listened for sounds. I heard nothing so I decided to open the door.

The door was only partially opened when a jet of red light and sparks hit the door from inside.

I pushed the door open the rest of the way and dived into the light landing behind a crate.

“Emma hold up it's me,” I called out. The top of the crate I was behind splintered from another spell.

“Dammit, Emms it's me, Draco,” I yelled out louder.

“I know,” came the reply as more of the crate, I was behind, disintegrated.

“Will you, fucking stop,” I yelled crouching while I prepared to make a dash to another crate. “I'm here to help you.”

I could hear her moving forward. “Toss out your wand,” she commanded.

I thought about it for a few seconds then tossed my wand a few feet away from me.

“I am gonna stand up now,” I said. “I would appreciate not getting hexed.” I slowly stood up and saw Emma standing about 10 feet away with her wand pointing at my chest.

“I'm not making any promises. What do you want?” she snapped.

Emma looked pretty much like I remembered brown hair, large doe eyes that could fool you into thinking their owner was innocent.   
“I said it already I am here to help, and judging by your hair trigger and twitchyness I would say you could use it.” I said moving in front of, and leaning on the crate. In the better light I noticed she was scared and looked like she hadn't been sleeping or bathing. Her cheek was cut and bruised.

“What the hell happened to you?” I asked reaching towards her face. She turned away her face away from me.

“That bloody dagger and book happened,” she snapped. “Was supposed to be a simple turn over. Wish I'd never taken that damn job.” She took a seat at the small table in the middle of the room. “Turns out not all the people you meet while breaking the law are honest,” she smiled sadly. 

“Who knew?” I said, taking the seat across from her. “I take you weren't compensated the way you expected.”  
“Good assumption,” she said standing and looking out a filthy window.

“I need to know who hired you?” I said.

“Just like that? I am supposed to roll over on my clients burn what's left of my rep cause the great Draco Malfoy asks me to?” she said raising her voice.

“Emma...,” I started to interrupt.

“Don't!” she yelled. “You don't get to come to me and ask favors! You just don't. You want something you pay for it like everyone else.”

“Okay,” I said not arguing. “What do you want?”

“Gold is always good,” she said. “Five hundred galleons should be enough to get me lost.”

“It's that bad?”

“You have no idea what these people are like. They're Muggles for the most part but they're like the scary ones. You know Hitler, Stalin, Captain Kangaroo,” she said, “real twisted types.”

“What did they want with dead magic and ancient rituals?”

“Didn't ask; didn't care,” Emma remarked sitting back down.

“Okay I can pay you the gold, but I have to know who hired you and how you got in contact with them.”

Emma pulled a cell phone from her pocket. “I said they were Muggles right?”

“Tell me exactly what happened,” I pushed.

“Well after I got the book and dagger they decided that it would be best if they just killed me and took the merchandise without paying,” she smirked. “This wasn't my first trip to the market so when I turned over the book and dagger I had a Portkey ready. I also kept some insurance.” She reached in her pocket and pulled out a handful of papers.

“Are those...?” I started to ask.

“Pages from the book,” she said, nodding. “I figured I could trade them for my life if I had to, but they just doubled their efforts to kill me instead.”

“Tell you what,” I said holding her eyes. “I'll pay you double what you asked, and see you out of town. You just give me the papers and the name of your contact.”

“I don't have a name,” She said, reaching into her pocket producing a cell phone. “This is prepaid and the only number programed in it is my contact. Big Muggle guy, looks like one of their soldiers.” 

She slid the papers and the phone over to me.

She got a strange look in her eyes bordering on nostalgia. “I thought I would be dead before we...”

Two things happened next. The window to the outside shattered and Emma's chest exploded. I felt something akin to a hot poker being shoved into my shoulder. The only reason I lived was reflexes. I rolled with the momentum and scrambled to my wand that was still where I had dropped it.  
'Emma... Stop it!' I chided myself. I didn't have time to think about her. I felt something wet running down my back I couldn't move my left arm. I fixed a destination into my head and turned, gritting against the pain, hoping my concentration was high enough. 

\---ooo---

I always found it funny the way the subconscious works. I appeared on the font steps of the Firepit at one in the morning, bleeding from a shattered shoulder. I wondered what it said about me that the one place I fixed into my mind to be safe was a bar. 

I woke up out of a fog with the white light stabbing my eyes. I looked over and saw Blaise sitting, asleep in a chair with a copy of Quidditch Weekly open in his lap.

“Hey,” my throat was sore and raw.

Blaise cracked one eye open. “Do you mind? Some of us are trying to sleep over here,”

“Sorry,” I said, trying to move to a sitting position. The pain wasn't as bad as I thought it would be but it still caused me to wince. “How long was I out?”

“Four days. The healers said it was touch and go for a bit. How, the bloody hell, did you end up shot by a Muggle weapon?” he asked.

“Long story. So my family know?” I asked.

Blaise nodded. “You don't remember anything?” Blaise asked me leaning forward.  
“It's all kind of fuzzy. I remember bleeding all over Willy but that's about it.”

“Well you were messed up,” he said. “You gave me a bunch of papers, a Muggle cell phone, an address to a warehouse and told me not to tell anyone but Auror Phillips.” I nodded letting the gravity of my situation sink in. “Of course Gertie found you,” he smirked. “I think that witch is part bloodhound.”

I smiled. I could always count on Gertie. I stared off into space and thought about Emma. 

“You know that girl's death isn't your fault, right?” Blaise said standing up.

I wasn't shocked he had been aware of what was going on. 

“Why does it feel like it is?” I asked.

“Cause you're suffering from a bad case of Potteritis,” he smirked. “Not everything is your damn fault.”

I nodded still thinking about Emma. 

“While I got a business to run,” he said, walking to the door. “I'll let Gertie know, your lazy ass is awake. Come get your stuff at the bar when they let you out.”

I nodded and he left. I leaned back and closed my eyes. I could still see Emma's face right before she was killed. Normally I didn't believe in revenge, as it lowers your life expectancy, but this was different, very very different.


End file.
